


Winter's Bone

by hesperia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperia/pseuds/hesperia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And yet here they both were, after the end of it all, alive, and that had to mean something too. He wasn't sure why he went to her, sitting on his legs before her, his head resting against her knees, he blamed it on the rich food in his belly, on the wine that had made him drunk, and on the desperate longing he felt to have her touch him again.</i>
</p><p>Catelyn was never at the Red Wedding, she and Jon meet up years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter's Bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honey_wheeler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/gifts).



It had been winter for three years by the time Jon Snow made it to the Riverlands. There was nothing left of the North, even Winterfell was a ruin of faded memories, holding nothing more than the crypts of his ancestors. It was not the Winterfell from his boyhood, when he and Robb would train in the yard, or kneel at the heart tree with their father. In someways, Jon was thankful for it, as bad as the thought was, his family was gone, killed or lost, it only made sense that Winterfell should be lost as well. 

They were only a small party, 20 or so riders in all, with little more possesions than what they wore or carried. Half of them were wildlings, the rest were what was left of the Night's Watch, Denys Mallister among them, and he was their main reason for coming this far south. 

"Seagard will stand," he had said adamantly, when they'd stood in the burned ruin of Winterfell's yard. "If there's anyone left, they'll be at Seagard."

Jon sighed, even after all these years, he still couldn't get used to the aching cold in his bones. He'd been 20 on his last name day, and yet as he dismounted his horse he felt as though he were 50. His left shoulder hadn't been the same since the attack, and though he pushed through the pain, it was there, deep and dull, a constant reminder if the scars on the surface weren't enough.

He was hand the reins of the horse to Satin when he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and he instantly looked around the yard for Ghost. The direwolf was standing in front of a woman, the fur on his neck and back raised; the woman did not shrink back at him, she did not scream or yell, but merely dropped to her knees and put her arms around the wolf, burying her face into his fur. 

Jon was half a hundred paces from them and when he approached she looked up at him with piercing blue eyes. He held out a gloved hand to her, and she took it as he helped her stand. Her hair was as red as it had ever been, and save for the soft streaks of grey at her temples, her face was as beautiful as he remembered. 

"Lady Stark," he bowed his head, bringing her hand to his mouth as he kissed the back of her cold hand. He braced himself for harsh words, for the anger and resentment that he held for himself, for not going to Robb when his brother needed him. 

The harsh words never came, and for the first time in his life that he could remember, Catelyn Stark touched him with something akin to kindness, her hand on his cheek. "You look so much like him," she said, and he knew she meant his father, because he saw it too, the reflection of a man who had loved him, a man he had barely gotten to know, it felt almost wrong that he should bear resemblance to such a great man. 

They were fed in the great hall, and Jon had to remind himself to eat slowly, to not drink too much wine, but it had been so long since he'd had either that he couldn't help himself. The Dornish wine was heady and strong, and by his second glass Jon knew he'd had enough. He motioned to Satin to take away the wine, and bring water instead. There was too much to do for him to have an unsteady head in the morning. 

Lady Stark sat to his right, Ghost lying on the floor between them, his paws on the train of her dress. He hadn't left her side since they had arrived, all but ignoring Jon when he'd given Ghost a bowl of chicken necks from the kitchen. Lady Stark wore her hair down, only the top of her head was weaved with intricate braids and it made Jon sick with the memories of Ygritte, with her red hair and soft, unyeilding mouth. 

It had been years since he had been with a woman. Val had been the last, when they'd been living in The Gift, and it had been for little more than comfort during cold nights, but Val was dead now too, just like the rest of them.

"You should sleep, Jon," Lady Stark said, and Jon opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them in the first place. "Ser Denys says you haven't slept in days." 

"I can't sleep when I'm cold." Jon sidedeyed the old crow, annoyed that the man would mention his sleeping problems, or lack thereof, to Lady Stark, but he was too tired, and he nodded, standing. "Come on, Ghost," he said, but the direwolf only looked at him and stayed where he was. Lady Stark smiled, and she reached over to pet Ghost's head, rub her fingers into the thick white fur behind his ears. 

For a moment Jon contemplated warging into Ghost, to feel her touch again as he had earlier in the yard. He shook his head, he really was tired. He left Ghost in the Hall, and headed to the apartments that had been set aside for him. They were sparsley furnished, but it was better than how he had been living for the last three years, and he pulled off his sword and belt, laying them on the table as he fell face forward into the feather mattress; groaning with delight at the way the feathers cushioned him, surrounded him. 

He was somewhere on the shadow between awake and asleep when the knock came on his door. He twisted in the bed, sitting up and reach for Longclaw as he went to the door and pulled it open only a few inches. He was surprised to see Lady Stark at the door, and he could tell that she had changed from dinner into her bedgown, her hair now braided into a single braid that reminded him much more of the woman he had known at Winterfell, and he wondered how long he had been asleep. 

"You left these at dinner," she said, holding up a pair of leather gloves. "I thought you would want them, before someone else decided they'd like them instead." 

"Oh. Thank you," Jon said, taking the gloves. He opened the door wider, standing next to it. "Would you...like to come in?" 

Lady Stark nodded and stepped into the room, watching as Jon shut the door behind her with a soft thud. He stood awkwardly in his chambers as she sat, and Jon was unsure of what to do, or what to say. This was a woman who had hated him, who had despised his very presence, who had wished him dead the last time they had seen each other, and yet that was not the woman who stood in front of him now; this woman with her tired eyes and sad smile, this woman who had lost everything that had meant something to her, everything that had meant something to him. 

And yet here they both were, after the end of it all, alive, and that had to mean something too. He wasn't sure why he went to her, sitting on his legs before her, his head resting against her knees, he blamed it on the rich food in his belly, on the wine that had made him drunk, and on the desperate longing he felt to have her touch him again. 

He felt himself sag against her when her hands began to weave through his hair. Long, thin fingers that combed through his dark curls, nails scratching softly over his scalp, and then down until she stroked the back of his neck, ran her fingers over his jaw, and pulled his head up to look at her. 

Her eyes were wet, her lashes dark and clumped together, and he pushed himself up his knees until he was the same height as her; his hand touched her cheek, thumb wiping away the tears at the corner of her eye. Her touch on his lips was soft, and she ran the pads of her fingers over his mouth and when he looked into her eyes it made his breath stagger. He'd seen that look before, he'd seen it in Ygritte's eyes when he'd put his mouth on her. 

Wasn't this what he had always wanted? For her to care for him, for her to stroke his hair and his kiss his forehead. For her to love him as fully and as deeply as she had loved all her children, as she had loved his father. How jealous he had been of them, of the love she had shown them, and how many times had he wished that he was not a bastard. 

Her mouth was dry and warm when she kissed him, and Jon had to force himself to go slow, to kiss her back tenderly, suck softly on her bottom lip until she opened her mouth to him, let him push his tongue into her mouth and to push her own against his. It had been years since he'd been with a woman but it came flooding back, like muscle memory, like he'd never stopped. 

He picked her up easily in his arms, their mouths never far from each other as he carried her to the bed, placing her down onto the feather mattress that still held the impression of his body from earlier. He pulled his shirt over his head, his fingers pulling at the laces of his breeches as he stood beside the bed, giving up when his impatience got the better of him. Her night gown had fallen open and he climbed onto the bed, laying his body over her as he kissed her mouth again, her jaw, the shell of her ear, and lower still down the long column of her neck. 

Her own hands and mouth ran along his body above her, her fingers trailing along the scars that littered his chest and abdomen. Her mouth stopped against his collarbone. "What?" she asked, softly. 

"Men," he replied. And he dipped his head to push his face against her breasts, burying between the swell of them. Her skin was hot, warm like Jon could never remember feeling, and his hands curled into the neckline of her shift, ripping it right down the center so she was completely exposed to him. 

Her breasts filled his hands as he cupped them, bringing his mouth to her nipple, licking over the hardened tip with his tongue once, twice, three times until she was panting below him, and he took her nipple into his mouth, suckling on it, pressing it up between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. She moaned softly, her back arching slightly, pushing her breast even further into his mouth. His other hand was kneading her flesh, pinching her nipple between his fingers, and he switched, bringing his mouth to that nipple, his fingers running smoothly over the other, still wet from his mouth. 

His cock was achingly hard in his breeches, he pulled back away from Catelyn to kneel on the bed, working his breeches down his legs, his cock thick and hard as it throbbed, the head already slick. With his breeches now discarded, he helped Catelyn take off the ripped shift and night dress. 

They were both naked now, her legs open to him and he leaned over her to kiss her breasts again, one nipple and then the other; he ran his mouth further down, over her belly, and over the dark patch of hair between her legs. He ran his hands over her thighs, pushing the open until he saw the pink of her cunt. The scent of her was sweet and heady and overwhelming, Jon remembered the smell of a woman well, and he remembered the taste even better. 

He licked her slowly with the very point of his tongue, along each fold until her thighs on either side of his head were shaking, and her hand was playing in his hair, fingers tight in his curls. When he finally sucked her tiny nub into his mouth she cried out, her hips bucking against him, and he had to reach up and put an arm across her waist to hold her down, but he didn't stop licking and sucking, not until he felt her cunt spasming against his mouth, pulsing fast and hard. He kissed her softly over her cunt, her flesh sensitive. 

His mouth was wet from her and he wiped it along his upper arm before he leaned back over her to kiss her, pushing thick into her mouth, wanting her to taste her sex on his tongue. 

"Please," Catelyn said, and she pressed her hips up against him, his cock between them was weeping steadily now, and it slipped easily over her belly as they pressed against each other before he settled himself between her thighs, his cock at her entrance. He fucked into her slowly, his hands finding hers and holding them above her head, her legs holding him tight, her feet resting on the backs of his calves as he filled her completely, fully. 

There was nothing as warm as being inside a woman, but Catelyn Stark was wet and hot and smooth, and Jon pressed his face against her neck, steadying himself, letting himself be lost in the tight wrap of her before he slowly began to roll his hips, his thrusts were shallow at first as he gauged her reaction, and then deeper and harder. Her hands gripped tightly on his shoulders and the soft moans from her lips began to grow louder and longer with every stroke until she was calling his name, pleading with him _More, harder, Jon, please, please, please._

Jon pulled back to kneel in front of her, watching his cock slide in and out of her, watching as she touched her own breast, kneading it in her hand. The pressure in Jon was building quickly, pulling and squeezing, somewhere deep inside him filling with liquid fire that spreadout over his entire body like wildfire; and then it was there, that sudden point of no return that had Jon groaning loudly as he came, the burst of white light behind his eyes as he spent himself deep inside her. 

It took him a moment to catch his breath, shake the blur from his vision as he slowly, painfully, pulled out of her. He laid on his back next to her, the sweat on his body cooling quickly in the cold room. He reached down and pulled the furs up over them, but he did not curl his body around her like he had done with Ygritte or Val. Instead it was she who curled around him, tucking herself into his arms, her face against his neck, her hand over his chest. She murmured something that he could not understand, or maybe did not want to understand, but he pulled her in closer, tight against him, and closed his eyes, finally warm enough to sleep.


End file.
